


Strike Before You Fall

by DeyaAmaya, Renegon_Paragade



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Human Sacrifice, Inspired by Eros and Psyche (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, POV Andrew Minyard, Past Rape/Non-con, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Religion, Suicidal Thoughts, self destructive behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23642917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeyaAmaya/pseuds/DeyaAmaya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renegon_Paragade/pseuds/Renegon_Paragade
Summary: Prince Andrew Minyard has been given to monsters his entire life. Perhaps that's why he doesn't even hesitate to marry himself to one to keep his family safe from a vengeful goddessAn Eros and Psyche AU for the 2020 AFTG Reverse Big Bang
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 84
Kudos: 204





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I'm finally posting!
> 
> I have so many people to thank in this. First and foremost, thank you to my wonderful artist, DeyaAmaya! [Here](https://andreil-minyasten.tumblr.com/post/615305603099869184/my-second-art-prompt-for-aftgreverse-2020-is) is a link to the absolutely beautiful artwork that inspired this fic. I'd also like to thank my lovely beta, [Lizzy](https://wishbonetea.tumblr.com/), for all of her hard work to make this readable! And last but not least, I have to thank the mods of the Reverse Big Bang for dedicating their time and energy into organizing this event (and putting up with my messiness)!
> 
> Warnings for the first chapter: Human sacrifice, Suicidal thoughts, Funerals. Please let me know if I missed a warning or tag

A marriage and a funeral wrapped into one. Andrew supposed it was only a fitting way for him to end.

Aaron did not seem to agree. “This is bullshit! The oracle must be wrong!”

Luther turned a disapproving glare onto his nephew. “Prince Aaron, do not presume to know more than the gods. This is their ruling, and it is final. As loyal servants, we can only obey their commands, no matter how difficult.”

Andrew snorted, doubting Luther truly disagreed with the sacrifice. He had despised Andrew since they first met, and now this prophecy was giving him the perfect way to get rid of his troublesome nephew.

Luther didn’t even acknowledge Andrew’s interruption. “This is the price you must pay in order to protect our city. As princes, this is your obligation to your subjects. You should be honored that the gods chose Prince Andrew for this prestigious duty.”

Andrew tuned out of the rest of Luther’s rant. The sun was barely at its apex, yet Andrew just wanted to return to his bedchambers and go to sleep. He had been woken at dawn by his brother’s nervous pacing and, realizing he would not be able to return to sleep, dragged Aaron into the main hall to wait for the messenger there. Luther had sent a runner to Delphi to determine what they had done to anger the gods after every subject in their kingdom had woken up covered in boils and blemishes. Aaron had been a nervous wreck for the three days it took for the runner to return, worried that the gods were displeased with his betrothal to Princess Katelyn and would force him to break up with the woman he had loved since childhood. He made frequent trips to the temple to offer gifts and prayers, begging the gods for their mercy.

When the runner arrived, Aaron had been practically vibrating with nerves. Thankfully for Aaron’s health, the runner had quickly assured him that the gods had not only accepted his betrothal, but also blessed the union, promising it would bring good fortune to both of their kingdoms.

No, the cause of the gods’ anger was Andrew, surprising no one except for Aaron. Andrew, who scorned his natural beauty, who chopped his silken hair in jagged lines and rubbed dirt upon his fair skin. Andrew, who openly scoffed at the idea of love, who vowed to never marry and turned down every eligible princess in the region. Andrew, who despite being the product of Aphrodite’s blessing upon Queen Tilda, refused to offer the goddess of Love his homage.

The runner informed them that Aphrodite had taken offense to his scorn of all that she stood for. The plague of boils was just the start. Aphrodite planned to make an example of him by destroying the entire kingdom, to make sure that mortals remembered her power. Thankfully, for the sake of the kingdom, someone had promised to stop Aphrodite, a monster so heinous that the gods themselves feared his wrath. The monster offered to protect Andrew's family and the kingdom, but only if Andrew would agree to marry him. On the day of the next full moon, Andrew was to be brought to the top of the cliffs and thrown into the sea, killing him and allowing the beast to take his soul.

Andrew had just laughed, unsurprised that fate had decided to fuck him over yet again. While Aaron raged at their uncle over Andrew’s impending doom, Andrew couldn’t bring himself to care. He had already been given to many monsters, what’s one more on the list.

“I’ll do it,” Andrew said, cutting off whatever his brother was saying.

Aaron whipped around to look at him in disbelief. “What?!”

Luther nodded once, looking pleased. “Of course. I expect nothing less from you. I will get started on the preparations.”

Aaron didn’t even turn to argue with their retreating uncle, unable to look anywhere except Andrew, mouth agape.

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Close your mouth. You’ll catch flies.”

Aaron made a pained noise. “You can’t do this, Andrew. There has to be another way. We could ask the other gods to intervene, or—”

Andrew covered his mouth with his hand. “Were you not listening? The gods themselves fear this monster, of course they won’t help.”

Aaron just shook his head, tears beginning to pool in his eyes.

“I promised to protect you,” Andrew whispered. “Do not be surprised that I plan to keep my word.”

Aaron’s shoulders sagged as his entire body suddenly went limp, seeming to give up on trying to hold himself up. Andrew lowered them both to the floor and held his brother as he cried for both of them.

* * *

Andrew’s last day on Earth dawned bright and clear. The air was surprisingly warm for the month of Gamelion and the birds were happily singing their joy. The morning was full of chaos, servants rushing back and forth preparing the wedding feast, ensuring that all were dressed in their best funeral attire.

Andrew managed to avoid most of the chaos by hiding in the baths under the guise of purifying himself. Sadly, his ruse only worked for an hour. It wasn’t long before Luther came to drag him to the temple to make a sacrifice for the gods’ blessing. Andrew didn’t understand why they bothered, since the gods would not stop the marriage either way, but he supposed that Luther was wary of insulting the gods lest they decide to punish him as well.

The next few hours were a blur of preparations. Andrew felt his skin crawl as servants scrubbed his face, buffed his nails, and trimmed his hair until he practically glowed. He avoided his reflection, hating his natural appearance. He had spent years perfecting ways to taint his beauty, making sure that no one would ever want him like that ever again, that no one would look at him and see a pretty, vulnerable child. That no one would try to take from him again. Years of work, and it didn’t even take an hour to wash down the drain.

Once he was clean and deemed perfect, the seamstresses brought forth his wedding attire. He donned a chiton of deep purple, using silver ropes and clasps to hold the fabric in place. A silver veil was draped over his head, obscuring his face, and the rest of him was adorned with silver jewelry. When Andrew attempted to put on his worn leather arm bracers, the lead seamstress quickly snatched them up. She gave Andrew a sharp warning to not ruin his outfit or remove the veil before she and the other servants left, leaving Andrew finally—blessedly—alone.

The peace did not last long. A soft knock in the doorway announced a new presence, and Andrew turned to Nicky and Aaron hovering just outside the room, both radiating displeasure and anxiety. At Andrew’s nod, they entered.

Nicky approached him first. Andrew was surprised the overly emotional man wasn’t crying, although his red and puffy eyes suggested that he might have only been keeping it together for Andrew’s sake. His cousin held out a crown of violets for Andrew to inspect.

“May I?” Nicky asked, voice soft.

Andrew nodded, holding himself still as Nicky placed the flowers atop his head.

Nicky stepped back and took in his younger cousin.

“I picked them myself,” he said, staring at his hands. “It’s not like father would care to do it.”

“Nicky.” At the sound of Andrew’s voice Nicky looked up and finally met his eyes. “If Luther had tried to give me flowers, I would burn them.”

Nicky smiled softly as tears filled his eyes, and Andrew allowed him a quick hug, patting his back. Nicky stepped back to give the twins room, wiping at his eyes.

Aaron stepped forward then, pulling his gifts from behind his back. In his hands were a new pair of bracers, the leather dyed gray and polished until it gleamed. They matched Andrew’s outfit perfectly.

Andrew reached out and took them, pausing in surprise when he realized that they were double the weight of his last pair. He glanced at Aaron before inspecting the bracers closer. Inside, he found sheaths carefully sewn into the lining, each one hiding a small dagger.

Aaron’s expression was serious when Andrew looked back to him. “Promise me you won’t go down without a fight.”

Andrew said nothing, but slipped the bracers on and tied them tight, feeling himself relax at the familiar protection covering his scars.

Aaron offered his arm and Andrew clasped it, looking his brother in the eye. “Thank you,” Aaron whispered. Andrew quickly hid his surprise. Considering how angry Aaron had been when Andrew killed their mother, Andrew hadn’t thought his brother would ever be grateful for the actions he took to protect him.

Andrew just nodded. “Treat Katelyn right.” Even if Andrew distrusted her at first, he knew now how important she was to Aaron, how good she was for him. He could not bring himself to hate the person that made Aaron so happy.

As the twins stepped apart, Andrew took in his family. Small though it may be, he would kill for both of them, and knew that they would do the same. As the trio headed out to join the rest of the procession in the courtyard, Andrew couldn’t quite bury the hope that he might one day see them again.

* * *

As the sun began to lower in the sky, the procession left the castle and began to walk through the town. At its head, Maria led the household staff in the ritual libations, mourning for the loss of their prince. Nicky and Aaron joined in earnest, while Luther seemed to do only what was considered appropriate and nothing more. As the parade made their way through the city, citizens lined the streets, straining to catch one last glimpse of Andrew where he sat in the funeral cart. They joined in the wailing, thanking Andrew for his sacrifice and calling on the gods to watch over him. The theatrics of the event annoyed Andrew to no end, but it wasn’t like he had a say in any of this.

Mercifully, they soon left the city and its population behind, following the path as it snaked through the foothills towards the site of Andrew’s demise. Andrew zoned out for the whole thing, watching the sky as flocks of clouds rolled by. He only took note of his surroundings once the cart rocked to a stop, the horses huffing out deep breaths. They were on top of a set of cliffs, overlooking the Mediterranean. The sea breeze teased at his veil, tickling at his skin, bringing with it the salty scent of the water crashing on the rocks below.

Andrew forced himself to stare down at the sea, ignoring the rush of fear that the sight brought him. He refused to falter, not with Aaron’s life on the line. If Andrew had to throw himself off a cliff to keep his brother safe, then so be it.

The feast was quickly unpacked, with a plate symbolically made up for the monster. Andrew could barely taste the food, his eyes focused on the drop. Aaron and Nicky seemed to be similarly affected, barely taking a bite each before pushing their plates away.

All too quickly, the meal was over, and Andrew found himself standing a few yards from the edge. Luther stood beside him spouting some cerimonial bullshit about love and familial duty. He finished too quickly for Andrew’s liking, nodding once to himself before stepping back. Andrew just stared at his brother and cousin, unable to look away as they stared back.

“May the gods smile upon your union, Prince Andrew,” Luther said, giving Andrew a look of impatience. Andrew couldn’t stop himself from snorting, but turned away before he could see Luther’s no-doubt disapproving reaction.

Andrew took a deep breath, walking slowly up to the very edge of the cliff. He looked down, watching the water churn and crash against the cliff face. He just needed to take one step and he would break on the rocks as well. His body would be washed away by the sea until nothing remained to show future visitors what had happened.

One step, and his family would be safe.

As Andrew gathered himself to take the leap, the wind picked up suddenly, blowing up the cliff and running past Andrew. He felt his veil lift, the wind pulling it away from his eyes and offering him an unobstructed view of the sun as it touched the sea, bloodying the water. He smirked. _How fitting._

Andrew turned back to the mourners, looked his brother in the eyes, and tipped himself backwards over the edge.

Maybe the gods were feeling merciful that day. He was unconscious before he hit the water.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: References to both Neil and Andrew's pasts (the same warnings as their pasts in the book), Discussion of previous rape, Unequal power dynamics in a relationship, Character injury.
> 
> As always, let me know if I missed something! Happy reading!

Andrew was surprised his husband didn’t come for him immediately. 

The first day was spent in confusion. After Andrew woke up in a field of wildflowers, a beautiful woman dressed too opulently to be a servant ushered him into the most luxurious house he had ever seen. She introduced herself as Allison, claiming that she ran the household while Andrew’s husband was away. Andrew didn’t trust her, especially not when she seemed to size him up with a glint in her eyes that promised trouble. He swore to himself that he would not let his guard down around her.

Andrew was led to a comfortable lounge and told to relax as invisible servants brought him every delicacy known to mankind, and some he doubted had ever graced the lips of a human before. At first he refused to take the food, unwilling to trust its safety no matter how much his mouth watered. Allison had just rolled her eyes, warned him about offending the wind spirits, and left him to his own devices.

After the sun had set, Allison returned, this time to lead him to his bedchambers. The room was as opulent as the rest of the house. The centerpiece was a large bed that looked softer than a cloud, covered in more furs and pillows than Andrew had owned in his life. Plush carpets covered the wooden floors to protect bare feet from whatever midnight chill managed to sneak in through the open balcony door. The room even contained a sitting area, a few low couches forming a half circle around a cheery fire.

Andrew refused to be fooled. No matter how beautiful the room, it would not make him forget the suffering that would no doubt be inflicted on him inside. As little as he trusted the woman, he felt his stomach drop when Allison left him alone to face his fate.

But his fate did not come for him that night, nor the night following. Despite Andrew staying up the whole night, hiding in the shadows with his knife, waiting for his tormentor to appear, nothing happened. By the dawn of the third day, he was exhausted. He hadn’t consumed anything since being sacrificed, and after two sleepless nights he finally had to admit that he couldn’t defend himself like this. When the monster decided to attack, he wouldn’t have the strength to even attempt to fight back. That day, he ate whatever the wind spirits brought him, drank whatever they poured to refill his cup. When night came he went willingly to the bedchamber. He pulled some furs off the bed and created a makeshift nest against the wall furthest from the door. He slipped the knife under his pillow, making sure to keep his hand ready on the handle, even as his eyes slid shut against his will.

Still, nothing. Andrew woke half way through the next day to a room exactly as he had left it. 

With the clarity of a well-rested brain, Andrew began to plan. He realized that he had been stupid so far, too focused on saving himself when he was not the important one here. If he attacked, and failed, what then? He couldn’t risk messing up and angering the monster, not when his family’s life was at risk.

So, Andrew began to plan. If his husband wanted to play games and wait until Andrew let his guard down to strike, then Andrew would play along. He would let the monster do its worst, let it feel safe in how completely controlled Andrew was, and only then would he strike. He hid the knife behind the dresser, carefully positioning it to be completely hidden while still easily accessible from the bed. He made sure to be visibly relaxed whenever Allison could see him, even pretending to doze off in the garden under the midafternoon sun. At night, he left the balcony doors open as he climbed into the bed, curling up as if he had not a care in the world.

A few nights later, Andrew’s planning paid off.

It must have been an hour since Andrew had gone to bed. The room was pitch black, the waning moon unable to shine bright enough to pierce the curtains. The only warning of danger was the crickets falling silent seconds before something landed upon the balcony with a light thump, footsteps quickly following as it let itself into the room.

Andrew startled despite himself, years of defense mechanisms causing him to sit straight up. The footsteps stuttered to a halt with a sharp intake of breath.

“Sorry,” a voice murmured, sounding unsure. “I forgot that you would be here by now. Guess Allison is right in that hosting guests is not my forte.”

Andrew didn’t buy that for a second, but kept his thoughts to himself. “You mean to tell me that my husband forgot our wedding day?” he asked, voice monotone. “Oh, how will I ever get over such heartbreak?”

An undignified snort echoed in the room. “Yes, I’m sure you view that as a great tragedy, if you managed to piss off Aphrodite.”

“Do I get a name to call you, so I know who to complain to Hera about?”

“You may call me Neil.” The voice had a rough quality to it, as if it had not been used in quite some time.

“Neil,” Andrew repeated, slowly. It didn’t sound like the name of a monster that the gods themselves would fear, but then again, the snarky creature before him did not really sound like much at all.

A silence fell between them, one that Andrew was prepared to wait out. Neil, on the other hand, did not seem to have the same patience.

“Well, sorry for waking you. Have a good night.”

“You’re not even going to try anything tonight?” Andrew’s mouth said before his brain catches up. He could smack himself for being so dumb.

“What do you mean?” Neil asked, genuine confusion coloring his voice.

That just angered Andrew, though he pushed it down. “You are my husband. You own me now.” His voice was slow, low, making sure to convey exactly how little he believed Neil’s facade. “I am in your bed. What do you think I mean?”

Neil let out a series of splutters and half-started sentences, seemingly completely blindsided by the insinuation. Finally, he manages a complete thought. “No, Andrew. That’s not what this is. I would never do that.”

Andrew snorted, unable to stop himself. “Like I have any reason to trust that.”

Neil fell silent, and Andrew braced himself. This was it, he had finally stepped over the line, and now Neil would show his true intentions.

“I swear upon the River Styx that I will never force myself upon you. If I do, let my godhood be drained from me, and passed to one more deserving.” The air hummed with power, the words forming a binding promise.

In the distance, thunder rumbled.

Andrew was suddenly hit with the possibility that Neil wasn’t playing dumb. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved that his husband didn’t plan to hurt him, or annoyed that he was married to the most socially inept creature in the world. “Usually, when a monster asks for a spouse to be sacrificed to them, they at least expect to consummate the marriage.”

“Well I don’t,” Neil said, defensiveness clear in his tone. “And I’m a god, not a monster.”

Andrew let out a rough sigh and rubbed at his forehead. “What do you want out of this, Neil?” When he received no answer, he elaborated. “You are risking the wrath of Aphrodite by marrying me, surely you realize that much. So what do you gain from this? Why bother getting in the middle of it?”

Wood creaked as one of the low couches took on weight, presumably Neil sitting down. “Aphrodite is on thin ice with Zeus already. If she goes off the deep end and starts killing humans for trivial offenses, he’s going to take her power away. The only way to stop her was to make you untouchable, and this was the only solution I could think of on the fly.”

“Why protect her at all?”

Neil sighed. “She’s my mom, what else am I to do?”

Andrew blinked. “I wasn’t aware that Aphrodite had a child.”

“Yeah, most mortals aren’t.” Andrew could hear the wince in his voice. “My father was the god of war at the time, before the current one took over. He was a real bloodthirsty man. Aphrodite didn’t exactly want her worshipers to know about that, so…”

Andrew let the information sink in, carefully choosing his next words. “So, you married me to protect your mother, and saved my family in the process.” 

“Pretty much.”

“Then what was that promise about?” Andrew had to know.

“Well, you were right, you have no reason to trust me, and you wouldn’t feel safe here until I gave you a reason.”

Andrew froze at that. “Ask me for something in return.”

“What? No, I don’t want—”

Andrew cut him off. “If you want to give me a reason to trust you, then ask me for something in return. Then, we’re even. I cannot trust you if I owe you.”

Neil was quiet for a minute. Just as Andrew starts to think he will refuse, or just never talk again, he speaks up, voice soft. “I don’t like it when people can see me. I have- scars, lots of scars, and people always look at me differently, after seeing them. If you need to promise me something, promise that you will not try to see them. I don’t want you to pity me, or whatever else.”

Andrew nodded. “I promise that I will not look upon your scars.” 

Again, thunder rumbled in the distance, sealing the words into a binding contract.

* * *

Months passed as such. Andrew would wake in the morning to find Neil gone, slipping out sometime before sunrise. Allison claimed he had godly duties to attend to, but Andrew couldn’t help but wonder if it was part of the promise. If Neil didn’t want to be seen in the light, leaving before daybreak was a good way to prevent it.

While Neil had slept on the couch the first night, insisting that Andrew was already in bed and it was no problem. Allison had commanded the spirits to bring in a second bed and rearrange the room the second she caught wind of it. Neil insisted he was fine with the couch, but Allison held firm, threatening to take the couches out if Neil didn’t sleep in a proper bed. Despite Neil’s grumbling, he had relented. Andrew didn’t get why a servant could order Neil around, but decided not to question it if it stopped the stupid martyr from messing up his back.

Most nights Neil would return to the home. Andrew grew used to the sound of him landing upon the balcony, and tried not to read too much into the churning feeling in his gut on those nights when Neil stayed out. It was just being uncomfortable with a change from his routine, he assured himself. And no, he would not contemplate how exactly talking with Neil had become such a major part of his routine.

They developed a game, of sorts, with rules they never exactly said out loud but both followed religiously anyways. Neil would ask a question, and Andrew would answer honestly, and then they’d switch. If one of them didn’t want to answer, they didn’t have to, but then the asker got to ask something else. The questions were always balanced, weighing truth against truth so that neither of them gave up more than the other. Trauma for trauma, scars for scars. Slowly, they both laid themselves bare to the other.

Andrew had honestly never felt a connection like this before. He could relate to Neil’s unhappy childhood as the product of Love and War, to Neil’s ingrained instinct to protect those he loved, to Neil’s choice to love the lesser evil when it came to his parents, to Neil’s self-conscious glee as he spoke of his father being stripped of his mantle as Ares and being cast into Tartarus. Andrew understands exactly what Neil means when he said, “It’s not the world that’s cruel, it’s the people in it.”

Worse, Neil could understand Andrew on a level that no one had even tried to get him before. Neil didn’t offer pity when Andrew recounted his childhood as an orphan on the streets of Athens, of the horrible men who took advantage of a child that no one would look for. He didn’t question Andrew’s decision to hold on to Cass, an aristocrat's wife who was so happy that her son had found a student that she turned a blind eye to Andrew’s prepubescent age. He wasn’t shocked as Andrew explained how a traveling guard had noticed the resemblance between the Athenian child and the crown prince of the last city-state he had visited, dragging Andrew to an oracle to get proof of his heritage. Neil even congratulated him when Andrew admitted to arranging Queen Tilda’s death to stop her from abusing his brother.

Somehow, their ragged and bloody edges fit together perfectly, forming a picture that was far from complete, but Andrew thought it might be beautiful all the same.

The first bump in their routine came some time around the vernal equinox, when Neil brought home their children.

“Neil, these are cats.”

“That doesn’t mean they aren’t our babies.”

“Your babies, then. I want nothing to do with them.”

“But if they’re my babies, and we’re married, doesn’t that make them your babies too?”

Andrew was pretty sure there was some flaw in that logic, but at least the lazy balls of fluff made for amazing heaters. Nothing would make up for the truly atrocious names Neil tried to give them. Andrew managed to convince him to compromise on King and Sir.

The second bump came when Neil informed Andrew that he would be happy to bring Aaron and Nicky for a visit, if it would help with Andrew missing them.

Andrew’s hand had frozen where it was stroking King, causing her to knead at his thigh with her sharp claws. He hissed, resuming his pets before her highness could get truly displeased. “I never said I missed them.”

Neil snorted in that way that made Andrew want to punch him, probably. “Sure, but you do. It’s obvious that you’re worried about them.”

“Is not,” Andrew grumbled.

“Is too,” Neil shot back, like the child he was. “You’ve got empty nest syndrome, Drew. Why do you think I brought home the cats? You obviously like having something to care for.”

Sometimes Andrew really hated that Neil knew him so well.

“Fine,” Andrew said. “Bring them. But don’t expect me to help when Nicky floods this place out with happy tears.”

* * *

Nicky does not flood Andrew’s home with happy tears, but it’s a near thing. 

Neil, of course, was not there to help control the overdramatic bastard, since it was daytime. Andrew made a mental note to get revenge for that later. In the meantime, Andrew explained his deal about not looking at Neil to his curious family to get Nicky to shut up about meeting him.

Aaron and Nicky looked healthier than the last time Andrew had seen them, both obviously settling into married life with ease. But while Nicky was overflowing with joy as Andrew gave them a tour of his home, Aaron’s mouth pinched in the way that always meant trouble.

“Just spit it out,” Andrew said as they lounged in the courtyard, sipping on wine provided by the wind spirits. It had an odd taste to it, a sour note beneath the usual sweetness. Andrew assumed Allison had pulled out the expensive wine in honor of their guests, and out of respect for her generosity he would refrain from pouring his cup over his brother’s head.

Aaron just stared at him, some internal battle waging behind his eyes. With one last deep sip of wine, probably to give him courage, he spat out, “Of all the people in the world to become a monster’s lapdog, I never expected you.”

Andrew bristled, but Nicky found his words before he could. “What are you talking about, Aaron? Andrew’s life here is amazing, aren’t you happy for him?”

“Why would I be happy at him pretending everything is sunshine and roses when it’s obviously not?” He turned his glare to Andrew. “You were never content in your life before, there’s no way your marriage to an abomination would make you content now.”

“Neil is not an abomination,” Andrew growled, voice low. “He is a god.”

Aaron scrunched his nose. “I’ve never heard of a god named Neil.”

“That’s because his mother hid him from the world.”

Aaron burst out laughing, a cruel noise that Andrew could not recall ever hearing before. “Are you even listening to yourself? A god that no one knows about, really? Do you actually believe that? I bet you even think he hurts you because he loves you, right?”

Andrew clenched his teeth so hard they hurt, trying to stop himself from breaking his oldest promise by punching his brother in the face. “Neil has not hurt me, nor will he ever. He promised upon the River Styx that he would never force himself on me, or else he’d have to give up his godhood.”

“A godhood he doesn’t even have! Seriously, Andrew, can you not see the loophole in that?” Aaron let out a scoff, looking Andrew up and down and obviously finding him lacking. “Though at this point, does he even need to break the promise? I bet you’d throw yourself at him if he asked.”

“Aaron, stop!” Nicky said, his tone the sharpest Andrew had ever heard. Nicky rubbed his head and took a drink before turning to Andrew. “Is there any way that Aaron could be right? Are you in danger, Andrew?”

The definite ‘no’ was on the tip of Andrew’s tongue, but something stopped him. It rose in his throat, sourness nearly choking him. Technically, Aaron could be right. He had never seen Neil, had no clue what he looked like. He had nothing but Neil’s word to prove that his husband wasn’t a monster. And really, what was more likely. That Andrew had managed to scrape out a happily ever after, or that the world had placed him in the hands of a monster perfectly designed to break him?

Nicky deflated at Andrew’s hesitation.

“You promised me,” Aaron said, quieter now, anger gone from his body. “You promised that you wouldn’t give up without a fight.”

“If he hasn’t done anything yet, Andrew still has time,” Nicky tried, voice hesitant. “You could still fight back.”

“I can’t fight him if I can’t see him, and I won’t break a promise, Nicky. I can’t.”

They all fell silent at that, sipping at their drinks to avoid how obviously screwed Andrew was. Some part of Andrew, the one that had started to relearn what it meant to hope under Neil’s gentile guidance, wished he had never agreed to this stupid visit. The rest of him knew better. Ignorance was never bliss, and now at least he wouldn’t fall for any more of Neil’s lies. At least this way, the inevitable betrayal would hurt less.

At least, Andrew tried to convince himself it would.

Suddenly, Aaron shot upright in his seat with a speed that would have spilled his wine had he any left in his cup. “I’ve got it! Remember when we met, and you promised me that you wouldn’t let anyone or anything get between us?”

Andrew nodded, slowly.

“Well, your promise to Neil is getting between us, and since our promise is older, that means the promise with Neil isn’t valid! Tonight, once he’s asleep, you can make sure he’s a monster, then kill him before he kills you.”

Andrew thought about it, sipping at his wine to give himself time to answer. Aaron was right; if a promise broke another promise, it was only right to honor the one he had made first. And with enough light to see him by, Andrew could make sure his knife struck true, not giving the monster time to fight back. It was the perfect answer to their problems.

By the time Aaron and Nicky left to return to their homes, they had formed a solid plan to gain Andrew’s freedom. Now, Andrew only had to wait for nightfall.

* * *

The monster landed once again on the balcony at the same time as always, slinking its way into the bedroom without a care in the world. It called out a greeting, cheerful as always, but Andrew knew better now. He played along, welcoming it home after such a long day. It tried to get him to relax, asking about Andrew’s day as if it truly cared about what its toy got up to while it was away.

Andrew couldn’t believe he had fallen for this for so long.

The monster was easily pacified with a white lie about how tired Andrew was after a day with his family. It even laughed along as if they were sharing an in-joke. It slithered into its bed, said a quick good night, and was snoring within five minutes.

Andrew waited in the dark. His heart pounded a steady rhythm, keeping time as he waited for the monster to be well and truly asleep. Slowly, he crept out of bed, ears strained to pick up even the slightest change in the monster’s breath. He pulled out the knife he had hidden so long ago, along with the candle and firesteel he had placed there today. He lit the candle, careful to keep his body between it and the monster, lest it wake up to the light. 

With his knife poised, he tiptoed closer to the bed. He held his breath as he reached the curtain, the last thing between himself and the monster he thought he loved.

In one swift move, he pushed through the curtain and raised the candle. Before his eyes could even comprehend the monster in front of him, pulled back the knife, ready to strike.

Except, there was not a monster in the bed. Instead, the most beautiful man Andrew had ever witnessed was just beginning to stir at the commotion. The candlelight bounced off his riot of ruby hair and caused his scarred skin to glow. The scarring was extensive, clearly the result of many intentional blades. 

Just as Neil had told him.

Andrew stumbled, mind trying to abort the stab even as his hand arched towards Neil’s exposed throat. Just barely, he managed to stop himself from adding another scar to Neil’s collection.

But, in his haste to stop the knife, Andrew lost control of the candle. 

Blue eyes shot open as hot wax splattered across Neil’s chest. He screamed, scrambling away from Andrew and the knife. Andrew stepped back, trying to give Neil room, but the man was already running, streaking through the balcony door.

Andrew gave chase, needing to make sure Neil was okay, but by the time he reached the balcony, Neil had already flown off, barely a spec in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Andrew :(


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: aftermath of war, religious themes, self-hatred
> 
> If you are reading as I update, please check the end of chapter 2 again. I've added the first piece of amazing artwork by DeyaAmaya, and you absolutely must check it out!!
> 
> As always, let me know if I missed anything. Have a great day!

Andrew wasn’t sure how long he’d been wandering, only that the sun had risen and fallen more times than he cared to count. He wasn’t sure where he was, either, though he was less concerned about that. He thought he was further inland, where the breeze no longer carried the scent of salt. The homes he passed were abandoned, and the scorched fields and sun-bleached bones painted the all-too common story of war. Above, clouds covered the skies, a distant rumble of thunder warned of the coming storm.

King and Sir were still with him. They had followed him when he fled the home, refusing to leave his side since. Now, they scanned the path ahead of Andrew, never scouting too far before they circled back to check on him. At the first drops of rain, they came running back, loudly meowing their displeasure. Andrew sighed as King scrambled up into his arms and Sir twined between his legs. For their sake, Andrew started looking for shelter, and spotted a damaged but sturdy-looking building up ahead in the flash of a lightning strike. Bowing his head to block as much rain from hitting King as possible, he rushed down the path and into the building.

Once inside, King jumped out of his arms and the two cats stalked into the darkness, tails twitching at the sound of mice skittering. Andrew wrung out his chiton as much as he could and slicked his wet hair back, out of his eyes. In the low light, he could just make out the ruins of a temple. Dust and debris covered every surface, making it obvious that no one had entered the building in months, possibly years. Broken bowls and scattered offerings littered the floor around the altar. The couches were destroyed, pillows torn open and wooden legs splintered where they were pushed towards the walls. While no bodies remained, Andrew was sure the previous patrons of the temple had not won the fight.

Something in Andrew felt sick at seeing the dishonorable state of the temple. While he was never a religious fanatic like his uncle, even he couldn’t stand the disrespect the invading army had paid to whichever god watched over this temple. Angrily, he began to gather the rotted offerings, holding his breath to prevent himself from gagging at the sickly-sweet scent of rot. Unsurprisingly, nothing valuable remained, just molding grains and mouse-bitten fruit. He tossed everything into a pile by the door to bury outside once the rain passed. Looking around, he found some flint and a broom in a small room normally reserved for the priestesses. He gathered some broken furniture into a haphazard stack in the hearth, striking the rocks until the splintered wood caught.

By the time he finished the colossal task of sweeping out every last speck of dirt and dust, his robe had dried and the cats had returned from their hunt. They leapt up upon the altar, curling up together by the warmth of the fire and purring loud enough to be heard over the thunder. Looking up at them, Andrew noticed that the firelight had lit up the far wall, revealing a blood-splattered mosaic above the altar.

Anger grew in Andrew’s chest. Without thinking, he ripped a strip of cloth from his chiton. He grabbed the least cracked bowl and stood in the doorway, holding it out to fill with rainwater. He marched up to the altar and climbed up to begin scrubbing at the wall. The blood flaked off the glazed tiles easily, although the plaster between would most likely always bear the taint of the horrors committed upon it. Andrew scrubbed as hard as he could, refreshing the water whenever it ran red. After five water changes his arms finally gave out, forcing him to stop.

He stepped back, taking in the mostly clean wall. The individual tiles came together to form an image of a woman, short and plump. One hand was held outwards, reaching towards Andrew. The other held stalks of grain over her shoulder. Andrew breathed in sharply, resigning the woman as Demeter. That an army would dare to disrespect the harvest goddess’ temple… Andrew hoped that they starved slowly and painfully.

Outside the storm calmed to a soft drizzle as the light faded with the coming night. Andrew sighed. Without the moon to light his way, Andrew couldn’t continue on his journey. He would have to hope the goddess would allow him to spend the night in the temple. 

He used the last of the daylight to bring the rotted offerings outside, spreading them on the edge of the nearest field. Glancing around, he gathered three strands of wheat that had managed to avoid the army’s destruction. Bringing them inside, he stood before the fire, staring deep into the flames. He held out the stalks and looked up at the glassy eyes of the goddess.

“In exchange for staying the night,” he said, releasing the wheat into the hearth. The greedy flames quickly ate through the damp strands.

Nothing happened. The ground didn’t shake, the thunder didn’t return, the flame didn’t burn any higher. Andrew decided to take that as acceptance of the deal. He sunk to the floor in front of the altar, ready for a sleepless night of keeping watch. King settled into his lap, curling into a tight ball and purring as he scratched behind her ears, while Sir kept the high ground, alert for any threats.

For the first time since his exile, he allowed himself to think about Neil. He wondered where he was, if his godly body had already healed his burn, or if Andrew had added a permanent contribution to his scarred chest. He hoped it was the former, not sure he could live with himself otherwise.

Andrew really was a monster.

He forced himself to focus on the flames, on King’s soft fur as it slipped through his fingers, on the patter of rain on the marble roof above. He pushed the thought of Neil out of his mind; he did not deserve to even think about the god, let alone hope to see him again. 

Andrew was dangerous, and he would do everything to protect Neil from himself, even if it meant never seeing his husband again. He leaned his head back against the altar, closing his eyes, trying to convince himself that the bottomless feeling in his gut was just hunger.

* * *

At some point in the night exhaustion must have caught up with Andrew, since when he next opened his eyes he immediately closed them against the morning light. Outside, birds sang their survival of the storm, praising the sun as it crested the horizon. His lap was empty, King having most likely risen with the sun for another hunt. He allowed himself a moment to just breathe, to accept that he had survived to another day before forcing himself to open his eyes.

Once he could process what he was seeing, he jumped to his feet, quickly falling into a ready stance.

On the other side of the hearth a woman kneeled, feeding a new log to the fire from a pile of wood. Her hands and face were covered with soot, her clothes the plain dress of a common house servant. She glanced up at his movement, taking in his tension with earthen eyes. Slowly, she shifted into a seated position without looking away.

“Peace,” she said, “there is no need to taint this land with more violence. Won’t you sit with me and break fast?” She gestured to the basket next to her, filled with bread and ripe fruit.

Andrew’s stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten more than scraps in far too long. Slowly, he reached out, grabbing a loaf before sitting down out of the woman’s reach.

She smiled at him as she took a loaf for herself. She tore a piece off, tossing it into the fire. “Praise to the gods.”

Something clicked in Andrew’s mind. He too tore a piece off and offered it to the flames. “Especially to you, Lady Hestia.”

Her smile grew larger, eyes sparking with something too close to pride for Andrew’s taste. “Oh, no need for formalities! You may call me Betsy.”

Andrew accepted that, taking a bite of the bread. Once the yeasty warmth touched his lips, it was all he could do to keep from inhaling it. He quickly finished off two loaves and a handful of figs before his stomach felt full enough to slow down. He picked at another loaf of bread, savoring the taste on his tongue, but all too soon he found himself with only a mouthful left. This too, he tossed into the fire, mentally thanking the gods for the meal.

Betsy hadn’t watched him eat. In fact, she seemed to ignore his presence completely, focusing on keeping the flames fueled and eating her own loaf. Sir and King returned from their hunt, rubbing up against the goddess and shamelessly begging for pets, which Betsy happily gave. She seemed content to sit and allow Andrew the first move.

“Why are you here?” Andrew asked, watching as she used a long branch to arrange the logs into neat rows.

Betsy hummed, considering. “Demeter asked me to bring her blessing.” She gestured to the basket. “As thanks for your work to restore her temple. She would come herself, but the place holds too many difficult memories.”

Andrew could understand that.

“What about you, Andrew. Why are you here?”

Andrew shrugged, staring into the fire. “Needed to get the cats out of the rain.”

Betsy’s entire face lit up with her smile. “Yes, I should have guessed. You obviously care a lot about them.”

“I don’t care about anything, especially not the dumb furballs” Andrew said, shooting a glare at the goddess for daring to suggest otherwise.

“Oh?” Betsy tilted her head to the side. “But that can’t be true. If you didn’t care about the cats, you would have left them in the rain. And if you didn’t care about this temple, you would not have restored it.”

Andrew couldn’t argue about the cats, but that didn’t mean he had to admit to it. “I barely cleaned the place, and I only did it to get whatever god ruled the temple to let me stay.” Andrew’s actions were purely selfish, just like any monster.

Though he didn’t say the last part out loud, he got the feeling that Besty heard the sentiment.

“Andrew, you know that I preside over all hearths in all temples, correct? I know you sacrificed stalks of grain to get Demeter’s permission to spend the night.” 

Andrew rolled his eyes, realizing that the goddess would not leave it be until he agreed with her. “Fine. I cleaned the temple because it was the right thing to do. It’s a temple. It watched over the people who lived here, and leaving it like it was would have just been disrespectful.”

Instead of accepting the answer as Andrew expected, Betsy shook her head. “But did it really watch over its patrons? Does Demeter deserve to be honored here, when she broke her promise to protect the people who honored her?”

Andrew stared at her. A goddess suggesting sacrilege, and the goddess of the hearth at that, would be unbelievable if Andrew was not hearing it himself. “An army destroyed the food, not Demeter.”

“Yet the fields lie barren either way. Does that not mean that Demeter failed to keep her end of the promise?”

Andrew made a noise of frustration in his throat. “Fine, yes, she broke her promise. That still doesn’t make it right to just leave this temple in complete chaos. If Demeter allows it, the land will become fertile again. The people will return, and life will continue.”

Betsy nodded, smiling as if Andrew had passed a test. “I suppose that is true, Andrew. But if you truly believe that, then why are you still punishing yourself?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Well, you too broke a promise due to an impossible situation, right?”

Andrew tensed. “That’s different.”

Betsy hummed. “Is it, truly? Outsiders came to your home and tore down all the trust you and Neil had created together. You broke your promise because you were given no other choice.”

“But I hurt him. I burned him.”

“And Demeter’s followers starved to death. Why is one forgivable and not the other?”

Andrew just shook his head.

Betsy sighed. “Do you know where Neil is, now?” When Andrew only shrugged, she continued. “Neither do the rest of the gods. He has disappeared, leaving his duties as Eros unfulfilled.”

Andrew felt his heart stop. Slowly, he looked at Betsy.

“Mary, his mother, knows,” she clarified. “I believe you know her as Aphrodite. And while she insists he is fine, I think we both know that he is not safe with her. Even Zeus does not trust her current motives, and believes Neil is in danger, though no god can make a move against another without cause. Whether you can bring yourself to believe you are worthy of being forgiven, you have to admit that he needs help. And right now, you are the only one capable of doing so.”

Andrew had already stood up. “Where?”

Besty beamed at him, rising as well. “Follow me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there are any new warnings for this chapter, but if you see something I missed, please let me know!
> 
> Also, the chapter count has changed, due to me deciding that having one chapter that is longer than the entire rest of the fic is probably a bad idea.

The current Aphrodite was a vicious woman who even Andrew could admit was beautiful, if one could ignore the cold hatred of the world simmering in her eyes. Her body would be soft if not for the tension she held within her frame, face gentile if not for pursed lips and furrowed brows. She stood at the same height as Andrew, and clearly was not fond of the fact by the way her scowl deepened. 

Andrew kept these thoughts to himself. It was probably best to not further anger his mother In law. 

Instead, Andrew swallowed his pride, bowing before Mary. “Lady Aphrodite, I present myself before you to seek an audience with Lord Eros.”

Andrew could feel the burn of Mary’s gaze, though he didn’t risk looking up. _For Neil,_ he thought. _Do it for Neil._

“For what reason do you desire to see my son?” Mary spat. “Is the injury and grievance you’ve already bestowed upon him not enough to satisfy you?”

Andrew tensed, biting his tongue to avoid asking the goddess if she didn’t feel the same. He took a deep breath. “I wish to apologize, my Lady.”

“Yet you never once tried to make amends with me, despite disrespecting my power and trying to turn my own son against me.” She laughed without mirth. “And now you dare to come to my home and ask me to do you a favor?”

“I am unable to seek your forgiveness because I still do not believe I did anything wrong,” Andrew bit out, before quickly adding, “my Lady.” He looked at Mary, gaze steady and unyielding. “I did what I had to in order to protect myself. I was unaware of any repercussions on your power. I will not lie to you and tell you I regret it.”

Fury flashed across Mary’s eyes. “Your motive doesn’t matter. Your insolence made me weaker, and for that you will make amends.”

Andrew nodded. “I will do whatever I must to see my husband again.”

Mary’s lip curled at the reminder. “We shall see.”

* * *

At sunset, Andrew was given his first task.

He was led to a shed near the kitchen and shoved inside with an unceremonious order to, “Sort it all by sunrise.” As his eyes adjusted to see in the low light that managed to trickle through the window, his heart dropped. Pushed in the corner was a large pile of seeds and grains, thoroughly mixed together. At its highest, it almost reached his waist, and was about as wide across as he was tall. Empty sacks and baskets were scattered about the room. Andrew picked up a sack, only to throw it behind him in disgust upon seeing a large tear across it.

With no other choice if he wanted a chance at finding Neil, he set to work. He checked through all the bags, thankfully finding that most were intact. Handful by handful, he began to sort the pile. He felt his eyes strain to make out the different shapes and colors in the fading light, but pushed on, attempting to get through as much as possible before the sun dipped below the horizon.

Andrew had barely managed a dozen handfuls before he had to stop. The sunlight was fully gone now, and the light from the moon was barely enough to see his hand in front of his face, let alone whatever was in it. From touch alone he could distinguish between some of the more distinctive options, such as the chickpeas and the wheat, but the seeds were impossible to distinguish

Annoyed, Andrew began to pace the room, searching for anything that could provide some light. When he found nothing, he turned swiftly and slammed his fist into the wall once, twice, just to feel something other than the despair that was threatening to choke him.

“I’m not sure what the wall did to you, but I doubt that punching it will fix anything,” a small admonished.

Andrew whipped around, eyes scanning the darkness. There, by the window, a bumblebee hovered above the pile, its plump body glowing just enough for Andrew to make out its form. It flew a few lazy circles around the room before buzzing closer to Andrew, who held out his hand to give it a place to land.

Andrew thought it said a lot about his life that a talking, glowing bee did not even register as odd anymore. 

“This place is quite the mess,” the bee tutted. “And too dark, as well. Yes, very unpleasant indeed.”

Andrew blinked hard, finally recognizing the voice as a smaller, quieter version of Betsy’s. He had heard the myths of the gods changing forms to visit humans, but had never thought he would witness it himself.

If the goddess had gone through the trouble of disguising herself to come here, Andrew wouldn’t risk revealing her to any listening ears.

“Why does that matter to you, busy Bee? I’m the one who has to stay here and clean it up. You can fly away any time you choose.”

“But that isn’t right, leaving you to do it by yourself. This is quite a lot for one person to do alone.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “What else am I supposed to do? I need to sort the seeds by sunrise, and complaining about the task just gives me less time to actually do it.”

Bee looked at him in a way that he just knew would read as exasperated fondness on a more human face. “You could ask for help.”

Andrew decided to humor her blatant guidance. “Who would help me? You cannot get involved directly, and I highly doubt Mary is feeling generous enough to pitch in.”

“Sometimes, asking for help is worth it, even if we don’t believe anyone will hear. What’s the harm?”

Andrew snorted. “Someone could see that I’m struggling and take advantage of my weakness. Some people like to make others beg, just to deny them. Getting my hopes up is pointless when they’re just going to say no.”

Bee glowed a bit brighter. “Ah, but if no one is around to hear you ask anyways, then no one can hear you be weak.”

Andrew remained silent, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of his verbal agreement.

She lifted off of his hand, buzzing her way towards the window. “I must get going now, Andrew, but think on what I said. Good luck with your sorting!” And with that she was gone, leaving Andrew once more in darkness.

Andrew returned to sorting the pile. His pace slowed to a crawl as he felt each item carefully, placing any he was unsure of into a seperate pile to look at closer to dawn when he finally had light. To his growing annoyance, about half of his work ended up in there.

Hours passed, or maybe years. Andrew sorted handful after handful, but the pile never shrank, seeds spilling off the top to fill any progress he may have made. The constellations outside the window had shifted, crossing the sky in a never-ending march that drew Andrew step by step closer to failure. Through the open window he could make out the rise of Phosphorus, signaling only two hours before the sky began to lighten. 

Andrew slammed his hands to the ground in frustration. Even with the coming light, there was no possible way for him to complete the task. He would fail Neil, again.

Desperate, he let out a faint whisper. “Help.” His throat burned around the words, jaw clenching to try to hold them back. “I need help.”

“What do you need?”

Andrew turned, squinting at the window. An ant was faintly visible in the starlight, crawling along the windowsill.

Andrew drew in a deep breath. “I need to sort this all by dawn, but—” His throat tried to close around the words, every instinct in him screaming to not admit to weakness. “But it’s too much, and I can’t even see to make sure I’m doing it right.”

“Well that sounds easy enough to fix,” the ant said cheerily. “I can fetch my colony members and we can get this done in no time!”

Andrew refused to believe it could be that easy. “I can’t repay you. None of this is mine to give, and I don’t have anything on me to offer.”

“There is no need for repayment,” the ant said, antennae quivering. “You smell like a friend to the earth, which makes you our friend as well.” 

As it spoke, more ants began to appear on the windowsill, following the path laid out by the first. One by one, they began climbing down the wall, disappearing into the darkness of the rest of the room and quickly getting to work.

Andrew watched the shadows where he knew the pile to be as the ants sorted. Occasionally, an ant would ask him to open a bag or help shift full ones around. He complied, taking care to not crush any of his invisible helpers. Otherwise, he remained still, trying to stay out of their way.

By the time the sky first began to glow with the approaching dawn, the pile was almost completely sorted. Andrew grabbed some of the remaining seeds, unwilling to just sit back and let others do everything. Together, the rest of the pile was quickly divided into the correct bags.

The ants began to file back out of the shed, back up the wall and through the window. One, who Andrew assumed was the one who originally spoke to him, hung back once it reached the windowsill, turning back to face Andrew. 

Andrew tried to make his voice form the words, the gratitudes he knew were expected of him, but his mouth refused to open. Instead, he settled for a nod to the ant, a gesture he hoped conveyed his gratitude. 

The ant must have understood. “Be well, friend of Demeter.” And with that, it crawled over the edge and disappeared.


End file.
